20k in Thirty Days
by Cracktastical
Summary: AU. Sam Witwicky is in love with Mikaela Banes, and wants to marry her. To do this, however, he needs around twenty-thousand dollars, and a job. Prime Publishing Corp.'s head book editor, Optimus Prime, needs a secretary. Optimus/Sam, other pairings.
1. Introduction

**Author's Notes: **Oh, look, I'm trying to write a romantic-comedy. For Transformers. Haha. Isn't that strange?

It's AU, naturally. The Autobots are human, blah. And Megatron… well, I don't want to spoil it. Also, based _very teeny weeny _loosely on _The Proposal_.

Dedicated to one of my best friends who I have not met in real life, Amanda. Happy birthday, best wishes, you're old! Haha!

**Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro, portrayals of Sam Witwicky and Mikaela Banes and Sam's parents belong to their actors. Also, Optimus' sister, Amanda, who you will encounter later, belongs to my good friend, Amanda. Any OCs belong to me, and so do the concepts. Wow, I gotta learn how to shorten this thing.**

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_**20k in Thirty Days**_

_Introduction_

&&&

It's settled.

I love Mikaela (my sexy, perfect, amazing girlfriend) very much, very very _very_ much that I feel like a dork writing it in my journal (because mom said I needed a diary to write all my feelings down and I said _"no, mom! I don't!"_). (I think the period fits there, and I should stop parenthetical overkill. It's safe to say I'm not so good with grammar.)

And because I love Mikaela very, very much, I've decided to marry her.

Okay, so I'm kind of young, and I'm not really done with college, but hey, it's not like a lot of kids go to college. I mean, I bet Trent, that jerk in high school who used to be Mikaela's boyfriend that _I_ got to steal Mikaela from because my dad got me a car and I was brave enough to ask if she needed a ride home, didn't go to college. Him and all those other football losers who did not believe me when I told them I made that book that showed the links between brain damage and football. I really _did_ make that book, and I worked extra hard on the coloring areas and the pop-up pictures and the mazes, so I was surprised when the publishers turned me down.

Okay, I think I went a little out of topic there. Internal monologues happen a lot when I'm on my own, and most of the time I just write without thinking about what I'm writing, so, there's my explanation.

Anyway, since I'm going to marry Mikaela, I'm going to need the money to – first – buy an engagement ring. And, after that, I'm going to need the money for the wedding preparations, since I'm the guy and all and I think it's an obligation. That means I'll have to buy wedding bands, some giveaways for the bridal shower, maybe even collect money for the shower itself and our bachelor/bachelorette party. And after _that_, I'm going to need money for the wedding itself, for the reception and the priest and the reservations and all that. Mom told me that when I got married, I should have a nice flashy ceremony. I wasn't sure whether she was high on pot brownies at that time, but I told her I would, and so that's the reason I'm in this sticky situation. Even though it looked so easy to do on that one movie called _The Proposal_, I remembered that the girl was a demon lady from hell (with a heart underneath after all) who could do anything, and the guy was fully loaded with all the money in the world. So, you can say that the situations are totally different. First is that Mikaela isn't a demon lady from hell, and I'm not rich.

There you have it.

Since I settled this oh-so masterfully in the confines of my dormitory last night during the time when Leo is most quiet (right after dinner, rubbing his belly), I also decided to grab a job to be able to get enough money for said wedding and said preparations. If I asked mom and dad to help me, who **knows** what they'd do, so I had to make sure to get all this money on my own.

And, because God loves me and tomorrow is a Saturday, I'll wake up extra early at seven 'o clock in the morning before Leo wakes up to bother me and drive (because luckily, I am not a freshman anymore) to a publishing company (hey, it worked in _The Proposal_!) and become the secretary of world-famous (not really) book editor, Optimus Prime. I know, I know, lame name, but rumor has it that his parents were high when they gave birth to him. I think the dialogue kind of went like this:

_**Daddy Prime:**__ oh look at his pretty blue eyes_

_**Mommy Prime:**__ they're so prettily blue_

_**Doctor:**__ you know 'optic' is a more fancy way to say 'eye'_

_**Daddy Prime:**__ really? maybe we should name him optic haha_

_**Mommy Prime:**__ but i wanted the name erasmus!_

_**Daddy Prime:**__ but optic sounds so sophisticated_

_**Doctor:**__ why don't you put the two names together?_

_**Daddy & Mommy Prime, at the same time:**__ optimus christostenov prime!_

_**Doctor: **__i swear he'll be gary-stu material, are you sure?_

_**Daddy & Mommy Prime, with eyes full of love and devotion: **__of course!_

And lo-and-behold, he was named Optimus Prime. Surprisingly, his dad was the owner of a publishing company, and because Optimus is his son and favoritism is inevitable, he became the book editor. And he's a really good editor, I tell you. Prime Publishing Corp. has published a lot of famous, best-selling books, and they always turn out good – and when you see the manuscripts leaked on the internet, you'll think _'daaamn, did that Optimus write the whole thing?'_

Yeah. That good.

Also, luckily, Mr. Prime (as in, Optimus) seemed to be in need of a secretary, because his last one kept sleeping on the job even when the work hours ended – and although he is somewhat similar to the perfect man, he was unable to do all the work himself. But he did around ninety-nine percent of everything he needed to do, so I guess if I become his secretary he wouldn't mind me not being there everyday because I had college.

I also hear that Mr. Prime is a very, very compassionate man.

Or at least, I hear it from his adopted son, Bumblebee Prime (also known as _Bee_) – whose real parents were also high when they named him. Bee's a neighbor in my dorm, and he's a real charmer. I wonder where he gets it from, his biological parents, or his adopted one.

Anyway, it was from Bee that I learned that Mr. Prime needed a secretary, and I figured that since all I had to do was answer calls for him or get him coffee when he needed it that I could totally be able to raise the money without dropping out of college. Bee also told me that the pay is real high there, so I'd probably be able to get it in three months. Perfect job, right? Right.

So, because auditions (I mean, _interviews_) are tomorrow, I have to get up early and get there earlier than everyone else to make a good impression. And, trust me; if I had a talent to match my dashingly good looks, then it would be a talent in running. I'd definitely be able to get there on time, if not earlier.

At the risk of sounding like _Spongebob Squarepants_, I would like to say, for the record:

_I'M READY! I'M READY! I'M RAY-DAY!_


	2. Of Interviews and Starbucks

**Author's Notes: **I'm getting basically positive feedback, and I'm happy you guys are enjoying it. Not much Optimus fic-time, but, oh well.

Thanks to one of my awesome best friends, ByE ByE RoBiN, and I am unsure as to how to type her pen-name, for beta-reading this.

Also, I apologize for the super-late update. I was busy.

**Disclaimer: Transformers does not belong to me, but a few OCs do.**

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_**20k in Thirty Days**  
Of Interviews and Starbucks  
_

&&&

Sam Witwicky was completely prepared for the interview day between him and world-famous book editor, Optimus Prime. He had set his phone alarm at _just_ the right time, six 'o clock in the morning, and made sure to make Leo promise not to bother him in the morning – in turn having to buy said Latino some Starbucks on his way back home. The boy knew deep in the recesses of his heart that nothing could possibly go wrong the day after, but like most movies, books, and shows: whenever someone thought or spoke something of that nature, it always ended up becoming the opposite.

Sam was, unfortunately, not an exception to this cliché.

&&&

He woke up exactly fifty-seven minutes later than expected, because, firstly, his phone ran out of battery the night before because he'd forgotten to charge it. Next, he'd had to wait a good forty-three minutes to shower because Leo, being the narcissistic bastard he is, took a lot of time to get his looks 'perfect'. Even though Sam noted that as Leo stepped out of the bathroom he still smelled like the same slob he always was, he didn't comment about it today – he'd wasted enough time.

He showered for five minutes and thirty seconds, took a minute to brush his teeth, and thirty seconds swearing like a sailor because he couldn't remember _where_ he placed his car keys. He ended up finding it in the pocket of the jacket he wore **yesterday**, and had to waste about three minutes being distracted by people in the hallways, saying things like _hey Sam let's go somewhere_ (in both friendly and seductive tones), or _dude you smell awful_, or _is that toilet paper stuck to your shoe?_, which Sam stupidly believed.

And then, he spent ten seconds trying to turn the key to his car into ignition, because it wouldn't budge. Five seconds trying to pull out because some cars didn't follow the parking regulations, five seconds yelling at a couple making out by the parking lot exit to get out of his way or he'll run them over, and ten more seconds being yelled at as a reaction to him yelling.

It didn't help much that his mother texted him, asking whether he had a girlfriend yet. Sam tried his best not to text back in all-capitals that he _still had one, thank you very much_.

When he finally reached Prime Publishing Corp., he was ready to kiss the ground and shout praises to the Lord – but, unfortunately, the line to becoming Optimus Prime's secretary was incredibly _long_. It was mostly giggling females, wearing heavy make-up and short skirts; and tops that made Sam want to blush. While he stood there, amidst giggling females who were being watched by men with questionable looks on their faces, a (female) senior citizen walked up to him and asked him a question.

"Sir, I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you _gay_?"

And that – although his entire morning was horrible – was the cherry to top the cake. Sam told her he wasn't, tempted to just break down sobbing right then and there. The horrible thing was that it would create a bad first impression for the man he was hoping to work for, and he didn't exactly want that to happen. Sam found it difficult, however, to keep a smile on his face. Part of him wanted to throw himself into a pothole and die, after all; and even in cartoons that wasn't funny. It was difficult for him to keep a smile on his face.

&&&

The young college student finds picking dirt off of his clothing to become boring after the first few minutes, and he remembers that he's been standing here for a good three to four hours. Sam notes, after a while, that he is the last one in the line, and therefore the most hopeless. Who knows, after all, the possibilities of _one_ decent girl in this line, who did not come because of Prime's rumored handsomeness? Sam is given a few notions of cutting in line, but that's not exactly the best behavior for a secretary to a man like Optimus Prime. He shakes his head from side to side, slaps himself and attempts to keep himself from going insane. Witwickys are strong – and therefore, Sam is strong, as well.

The last girl walks into the building, and Sam bites the inside of his cheek, nervous. Each girl in line had been kicked out after the first few minutes, and Sam isn't exactly sure _how_ grueling the interviewing process here is. Perhaps it's a James Bond-esque test that did not involve talking. Maybe the interviewee had to go through a million miles and seven doors of booby-traps before reaching the man of their dreams (or, in Sam's case, the key to his dreams). Sam shivers at the mere thought of booby-traps. Running can only take him so far.

He's snapped out of his stupor when the girl steps out of the building, huffing and crossing her chest as though disappointed. She looks at him through fearful green eyes, and Sam feels like wetting himself. That glare – icy and able to make a grown man cry – is the reason looks cannot kill. Otherwise, people would be dropping dead at random.

Sam walks through the double doors, and finds that there is a message flashing through a projector right above his head on the elevator.

"If you want to be Optimus Prime's new secretary, turn to your right and go on straight to the interviews. Do not go into this elevator, because you will be meeting Mr. Prime last."

Sam swallows, the fancy way of doing this seeming to make him all the more nervous. His palms begin to sweat and he curses his genes. He turns to the right and moves into a door, noticing the name on the glass pane reading _Iron F. Hide_.

"Good morning," Sam says, slowly, testing his voice to make sure he won't stutter or squeal or die. The man behind the desk is reading a few papers on said desk, and when he's spoken to, his head lifts and piercing blue eyes stab Sam in the heart.

Okay, not the best metaphor, but it's the best to show just how fearful Sam felt.

"Afternoon. It turned twelve noon ten seconds ago."

Sam gulps. The man is picky about his time. He's going to _die_.

He's interrupted mid-prayer when the man tells him to take a seat, which he reluctantly does.

"This will take no less than a minute. Do you have any past criminal records?" he asks, and Sam winces just a little. The man frowns, unimpressed. "Fifty-five seconds left. Answer, or I will shoot you."

Sam's voice leaves him in rushed bubbles.

"Alright I have only one criminal record because I walked out my door one night and saw my car going the other way and thought oh-my-God-my-car's-being-stolen and then called the police because it's _my car_ and nobody else can have it but then when I went to the garage to get my bike to catch the car I saw it right there and figured that the car I saw moving was actually _someone else's_, but the police chose that time in particular to get to my house and they saw me in the garage hugging my car and said _son we'll take you downtown_ and I knew that they'd take me to jail or something because they always say downtown in those cops-and-robbers-movies – "

The man rubs the area of skin on his face where a third eye might reside, and mumbles a quick 'shut up'. Sam, frightened, shuts up, and sinks into his chair: doing his best not to try anything stupid. When the man stands and his hand brushes against the gun holster on his left hip, Sam feels like he's going to die, and he prays to God that it didn't take him more than a minute to blabber one of the most embarrassing moments of his life.

"You took twenty-four seconds to tell me the most stupid story I have ever heard," the man starts, and Sam's Adam's Apple bobs up and down in his throat. "And I only have one thing to say to that."

Sam gets ready for the worst verbal beating he's ever received in the entirety of his life.

"Although the stupidity of it all astounds me, I know you're telling the truth. Believe it or not, you're the only one who made it in this room. All the other applicants thought the command was a trick question, and went straight to the elevator, and therefore were kicked out immediately. Even though I feel like blowing your brains out because of your unbelievable lack of common sense, you know how to take orders, and I think Optimus would need that in a secretary. I've never talked this much, so before the knowledge that I can speak an entire paragraph is lodged into your cranium, I suggest you leave, otherwise I really _would_ blast your brains out."

Sam's out of the chair and running to the next door before Iron F. Hide can stop him.

"W-Wait!" Sam says, and he turns around to look at the older man. "What does the 'F' in your name stand for?" he asks, curiosity getting the better of him. Ironhide only takes the gun out of his holster, however, and Sam – _terrified_ – rushes to the next room without a second thought.

Ironhide's lips curve up just briefly to form a small, ghostly smile.

"That boy will be good for Optimus."

&&&

After a million days of traveling and three more interviews, Sam finds himself quickly losing hope of_ ever_ becoming the book editor's secretary. Sam is surprised that so many things are necessary just for _one_ job; and when he looks at **another** door with **another** name printed on it, he sighs and turns the knob – stepping in and dusting himself off. The one(s) that had interviewed him earlier were twins by the names of Mudflap and Skids, and they'd challenged him to a dance-off which had left the poor boy dizzy. He'd been allowed to pass, however, because of his 'non-sore loser behavior, yo', and Sam was thankful at that time; despite being covered in dirt from the floor he'd had to 'dance' in.

The most intriguing interview of the day, however, is that of the man who'd been called Ratchet.

He'd asked Sam all kinds of questions, about AIDS and HIV and some lung sickness Sam honestly didn't know of, and had finally deemed Sam worthy of passing when he stuck a thermometer up his butt. Not the best of times, definitely, but Sam had seen worse. He's never let his mother touch another brownie again, after all.

And then Sam is back in the real world.

"Good… afternoon?"

Sam's voice is surprisingly shaky, and he feels his cheeks redden just slightly. The boy is particularly frightened of everybody he encounters (well, except for those female triplets, who, despite their supposed strict looks, were unbearably fun), and when he sees _this_ next person – he wonders if they'd saved the most normal one for last.

"Good afternoon."

Sam takes a seat in the chair when the person, whose name was Jazz ("Who the hell would name their baby about a _music genre_?"), tells him to, and he shuffles a little in his seat. Jazz (Sam's subconscious is thinking of a million corny jokes about his name)'s stare is intimidating, and when Sam swallows the man narrows his eyes in something Sam can only note as anger. The boy is frightened again, and when the older between the both of them begins his string of questioning, he answers as quick as possible.

"What is your name?"

"Samuel James Witwicky!"

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one, sir!"

"Why are you here?"

"To be the secretary of Optimus Prime!"

"What do you plan to do for him?"

"I plan to work my ass off to make sure he gets his job done right!"

"Will you attempt to get him to stop being a workaholic?"

"Yes, sir!"

A pause, and Sam wonders what the **hell** he just answered.

Jazz is laughing at him.

"You didn't get what I asked you, didn't y', kid?" he asks, and Sam notes the sudden friendly demeanor, the lack of tension in the air. He blinks once, twice, and asks himself over and over whether he was punk'd or something. Jazz's laugh turns into a faint chuckle, and he shakes his head from side to side. Sam's brown eyes are confused.

"Really? You didn't get it?" Jazz continues, and this time he's serious. Sam nods his head slowly, looking more like a mentally retarded person than anything else, and the last of the men to interview him moves over the desk in order to whisper something into Sam's ear. "Honestly, kid," he starts, and Sam is still frightened, "Optimus needs himself an assistant who won't just do everything he says. He doesn't have a life, kid. He just works himself during day hours, goes to sleep late _because_ of work, and…"

Sam holds his breath.

"He doesn't get _laid_."

You could cue a dramatic gasp by an audience if this was filmed live or something. Sam sinks into his seat. Jazz moves to sit onto the desk, rubbing his chin. "Optimus needs some fun, you know? Ironhide told me you got some charm, or at least some stupidity, and those are the best things to get someone to finally get off their ass and stop worrying. Listen, kid, I'll let you pass this interview with flying colors only if you get that huge, non-existent pole out of his ass."

Sam is horrified.

"… I said non-existent."

He lets out a breath.

Jazz's eyes crinkle a little when he smiles. "What do you say? You willing to teach a hopeless case how to have a little fun?" he asks, and he outstretches his hand. The whole time, Sam has been silent, his mouth slightly agape – and he uses the back of his hand to wipe off some drool. He isn't sure what to answer, and he takes a moment (which seemed like an hour to his mind) to think about his choices.

Say yes, and he'll possibly be in for a bigger hell of a ride than he bargained for. He _may_ be involved with shoving asses up thermometers, dance-offs every Saturday, a gun in his face every time he shows up at work, and just **maybe** having to pull out a pole out of the ass of his supposed boss. Everything's alright but the pole thing, because Sam thinks anal penetration is just something that is _no-go_. He shivers.

If he says no, then he may be missing the chance of a lifetime.

The kid is stupid, so he says yes, and shakes Jazz's hand.

"That's the spirit!" Jazz says, and he's so full of life that he jumps off the desk and does some magic headspin that Sam hadn't thought possible. The college student is about to say 'whoa' when the door to the room opens a crack, and the most breathtaking human being Sam has ever witnessed walks in.

"You've been causing quite a racket," purrs the deep voice – something that could be described as a faintly orgasmic drawl. Jazz is laughing when he walks to clap a hand onto the man's shoulder, the man with the piercing blue eyes and the surreal blue hair. The fact that said hair is spiked ever so slightly to his left makes him seem like he'd just had sex. Sam's toes curl and his cheeks color with a scarlet red. It doesn't help that the stranger's body is on the borderline of _attractive_ to a guy who had a girlfriend. Sam wants to slap himself and die.

"Have some fun, Optimus! We got your new secretary!" Jazz exclaims, and the man (Sam's heart soars despite him not wanting it to because he finds out he's the _boss_)'s blue eyes narrow before he rubs his temples. It's apparent he's not proud. He looks surprisingly lanky next to the figure of Jazz, this Optimus fellow. Sam had expected him to be a bald guy with a huge, Pringles-esque mustache and a burly figure. Instead he gets the man with the frown that makes him even **better**-looking. When Optimus speaks, Sam is tempted to cut in.

"I told you to run them by me if you ever encountered anyone."

"I _promised_ the kid the job, Optimus. You can't just push him away."

"**Yeah**!" Sam exclaims, and he immediately clamps his hands over his mouth in embarrassment. Optimus's eyebrow cocks upward just slightly, and that's about all the reaction the college boy knows he's _ever_ going to get. When Optimus steps towards the lad, Sam realizes with butterflies in his stomach that he's _ever so taller_ than him. He feels like a midget under the powerful, god-like stare of his boss.

"You can't…" Sam starts, faltering. "… just push me away?"

Optimus's stare continues, before he taps Sam's right cheek tad forcefully with the tips of his fingers, a little spark seeming to ensue from it. A spark of both pain and the fact that there were electrons surging through their bodies. Sam's wince is resounding.

"… At least you're sure of yourself," Optimus finally says, and when a ghost of a smirk touches his handsome face, Jazz laughs again and wraps his arm around the boss's shoulder. When they're not looking at him, Sam blushes darkly, out of embarrassment, anger, and sheer shyness.

_You're fucking insane, man._ He tells himself, though he can't deny that his boss is insanely intriguing. At the same time, he wants to kill him. Optimus seems far too anti-social for his own good. Maybe he should show Leo to him.

"What'd I say, huh?" Jazz says, and his grin shows how proud he is of himself. Optimus rolls his eyes at the comment, and shrugs away from his grasp – walking out the door and closing it so lightly that Sam doesn't jump in surprise. Jazz sighs and looks towards Sam, his blue eyes a little less piercing than Optimus's were. "Sorry, kid. I told you a pole was rammed up his ass."

Sam can't even laugh.

"You start tomorrow, alright?"

&&&

When Sam is in his car, he thinks of words he could've said to Optimus, words that sounded so insanely _impossible_ to contradict that he wished he could've said them earlier.

The girl on the radio laughs with a snort, and Sam turns it off with something akin to rivalry glowing in his eyes. Now that he's away from him, he can feel the embarrassment sinking through his bones. His grip on the steering wheel is tighter, and when he reaches a red light, he leans his forehead on the wheel.

He isn't so sure whether he'd be able to handle something as drastic as _this_.

It's only when Sam reaches the parking lot to the college that he realizes he's forgotten something.

**Leo's Starbucks.**

&&&

**Author's Notes: **I may possibly write a separate one-shot for the Ratchet-Sam encounter. Tell me if you want me to.

Also, I need a beta-reader.

Anyone want to?


	3. Of Bromances and Caramel Macchiatos

**Author's Notes: **So I haven't touched this fanfiction in over a year, and I'm sorry for that. Life is crazy, and so am I. I haven't seen _Transformers _in a long time, so the characterizations are probably going to be sloppy. Just a fair warning before you begin reading. I pray that I still have readers. –crosses fingers-

This has not been betaed. I don't know if my beta still wants to beta this. Hence, all mistakes are mine.

Thanks to Amanda for helping me pick Optimus's favorite drink!

**Disclaimer: Please don't make me say it. It hurts enough just to think it.**

* * *

_**20k in Thirty Days**  
Of Bromances and Caramel Macchiatos_

"Dude, you're forgetting something."

The first four words Sam hears after entering sanctuary (a.k.a. his dorm) are words from Leo. Sam finds a little noise of frustration coming out of him, and, dragging his feet towards his bed, plops down onto it.

"Seriously, you're _forgetting_ something _important_." Leo sounds like a kid who didn't get a promised lollipop. Sam's imagination wonders what he would sound like if he shoved him into a blender to shut up.

"I'm not in the mood right now, Leo," Sam mutters, kicking his shoes off and lying on the mattress. His roommate frowns, and he scrambles over, picking up a trusty pencil and flipping it so the eraser side faces the other male. Then he does something that makes Sam wish his pillow was made of concrete. That way he'd have a weapon.

_Poke._ _Poke poke poke poke poke poke poke._

"Sam."

_Poke poke poke. _"Sam." _Poke._ "Yo, _chico_! Get your ass up, man! My Starbucks! Did you forget or somethin'? That is _not_ cool." _Poke._ "Jeez, Sam, I was countin' on you! I didn't buy any coffee from the machine because I wanted you to buy me one, and now it's past curfew and _how am I supposed to pass the exam on Monday?_" _EraserpokingmynoseohGod._ "I am not going to stop until you give me an excuse, man. And it better be a good excuse."

Sam opens his mouth and bites the eraser.

"Whoa! I thought you were going for an _interview_, not for some whacko karate lesson!" Leo steps back for a moment, staring at his bitter-faced roommate. Sam spits the pencil out and sits up, sighing as he runs his fingers through his hair.

"I went for an interview, Leo," he says, simply. This is funny, because Leo expected him to go into some kind of long explanation of how he went to hell and back and became the slave of Adolf Hitler. But, of course, it's not the _funny ha-ha_, but the _funny I feel like a seagull crapped on my shoulder_.

"And?" Suddenly Leo wants the guy to rant. Ridiculous. He must be dreaming.

"My boss is an asshole," Sam mumbles under his breath.

"Your… boss obviously has a hole in his ass, Sam," Leo says, blinking.

"No! No, clean your ears, Leo, I think your hygiene's going crappy again. I mean… I got the worst boss _ever_." Sam suddenly looks like this dejected, sad puppy; the kind of animals you see in animated feature films that make you cry at the end. (In the back of his mind, Leo thinks that this would be so much better if he was seeing all of this in 3-D, but then Sam starts talking again and he has to stop thinking.) "He's got a huge, non-existent pole shoved up his ass, and I gotta pull it out!"

Leo's eyes get as wide as saucers and he blanches.

"… I said non-existent."

Then calmness reigns once more.

"I don't see why you're so bitchy over it. I mean, remember that one guy when you used to work in Subwa—"

Sam butts in immediately. "You promised never to bring that up again," he offers. For a moment there, he's brought back to years of too much mayo, too little lettuce, and hairy people. _Shudder_. "But, it's different. Listen, my boss is Bee's dad."

"Bee? _Our_ Bee? Happy, blond, fun-loving, parents-were-high-while-naming-him Bee?" Leo suddenly gets into disbelief mode. If Sam's a puppy, Leo's a goldfish.

"Yes. That Bee." Sam looks a little distraught just saying it. "The awesome Bee has a terrible father. Man, and he said Mr. Prime was _nice_ and stuff. I don't see how he got that. He was so cold I felt ice in my pockets."

"Explains why it's so small."

"Why… Leo, what are you talking about?"

In half a second, the other male coughs and shakes his head. Sam raises a brow, but says nothing more.

"He practically cursed my existence. I got the job from some guy named Jazz – and, no, don't even mention the name, I thought about it, too, but all the thinking made my head hurt and I gave up – and then Mr. Prime walks in and he's all—" In this moment, Sam stands up, puffs his chest, and places his hands on his hips. He tries to look vaguely desirable, but ends up looking cross-eyed and gives up on that. "'No, bitch, run them li'l maggots by me first before you hire them! I am so mad I will look even sexier. Roar. Optimus smash!'"

"Your boss smashed the wall?"

"… Well, no. But you get my point."

"And he looked even _sexier_, huh?"

"… You should see him."

"Whatever. I don't care if you're queer. Anyhow, the solution to your problems is simple." Leo gently pushes on Sam's shoulders to get him to sit, and he pulls a chair to sit across from him. Sam is about to open his mouth to protest to his friend's second statement, but he gets a face full of pillow before he can say anything. "Develop a bromance."

Sam gets the pillow out of his line of sight, and he shakes his head a bit to clear it, before looking up at his roommate-turned-Dr. Phil. "A bromance?" he asks, furrowing his brows. "That's… brothers, and romance, combined, right? So you want me to… develop an incestuous relationship with my boss?" Sam gags. "That's _sick_."

"No, man! You ever seen _How I Met Your Mother_? Think Barney and Ted. _Bromance_." Leo makes hand gestures in the air as he says that last word, making it look like it should sparkle. Sam's brows only furrow even more, and he leans forward, rubbing his chin.

"But… Neil Patrick-Harris is gay."

"I thought you'd fill out that role pretty well."

Sam groans. Maybe he should've bought the damn Starbucks while he could.

* * *

"—see, and then it'll be _foolproof_!" Leo finishes plan number 26 version beta with jazzhands. Looking at the clock, Sam sees it's a little after eleven, and he comes to the conclusion that Leo will most definitely fail that exam.

"Leo, as awesome as that plan sounds, I don't own a Pokémon."

"… You can always catch one. Ash was like… wearing diapers when he got his Pikachu," the Hispanic finishes, grinning like he's the smartest guy on earth and crossing his arms over his chest. Sam rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "Face it, Leo. There's nothing we can do. Mr. Prime is just a giant asshole."

"Mr. Prime is just a giant _what_?"

Almost as if on cue, the door opens and a blond head of hair appears.

Bumblebee Prime creeps into the room, black-framed glasses perched on a cute, button nose. He's got the same eyes as his father, bright and insightful; but whereas Optimus's are filled with untold knowledge and the years of his experience, Bumblebee has gallons of curiosity. He grins, looking at the two males in the dorm room, before gently brushing some of his stray bangs away from his face.

"A giant breath of fresh air!" Sam says, throwing his arms in the air and grinning. Then he slumps forward, pressing his face into his hands, muttering things about how screwed he is.

"Sam thinks your dad's an assbutt," Leo explains, nodding his head. Bumblebee looks vaguely surprised over this, but then he grins and plops over beside Sam, shifting his glasses so they rest on the top of his head. The blond draws his knees to his chest, arms circling around his legs, and he looks towards Sam with a bit of an understanding look in his eyes. "It's okay," he says, patting the brunette on the head. Sam takes comfort in this tiny piece of compassion coming from his best friend, and he gives a smile.

"Dad's only like that because he's got some… issues," Bumblebee admits, looking down at the floor. "He says a family heirloom's gone missing, and it's driving him nuts."

"_He's_ driving _me_ nuts," Sam mumbles.

"_You_ drive _everyone_ nuts," Leo supplies.

Bumblebee laughs as Sam throws a pillow at the womanizer.

"Yeah, well, normally he's pretty great. Dad's actually a big softie once you get to know him. He's protective as hell, too." Bumblebee pokes his fingers together, Sam looking towards him with a raised brow. "You just have to make him like you. Become _friends_ with him. He won't show it, but he'll appreciate that a lot," the youngest advises, grinning. Sam isn't sure if he can believe this, but he nods his head, falling back down onto the mattress.

"That brings up another issue, though," he says, furrowing his brows. "_How_ am I supposed to get your dad to like me?" Bumblebee puts on a look of deep thinking, but then he snaps his fingers and beams, already-inhuman blue eyes shining further. This display of hope makes a fire burn in Sam's heart, and he smiles brightly, believing that perhaps he was right in befriending the blond. _God_, he knew he could depend on him! He just knew it!

"Develop a bromance!" Bumblebee says happily, clapping his hands together.

Sam looks both amazed and disbelieving.

'_A million other people out there, and I befriend the people who have Bromance Complexes,' _he thinks to himself, slapping his palm to his forehead. Bumblebee's previous excitement dies down, and the kid pouts, waving a hand in front of Sam's face. "Hey, it was a great idea! Seriously, Sam, I can't believe you didn't think of it," the blond indicates, pouting. Leo huffs, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs.

"Sam's just on his period, Bee. He doesn't understand genius when he hears it."

Back to the drawing board.

* * *

It's well past midnight when Bumblebee's phone rings. Leo's asleep, snoring on his bed, having completely forgotten about his exam. Bumblebee, on the other hand, he flips it open, and when Sam peeks over his best friend's shoulder, he sees the name _Dad_, and a picture of the man to accompany it. He swallows, throat suddenly gone dry, and Bumblebee places a finger to Sam's lips as he takes the call.

"Hi, dad," he says, and then he stands and leaves the room.

This leaves Sam on his own, late at night (or would it be early in the morning?), with no company but a half-dead Leo Spitz.

'_Attractive,'_ he thinks, sighing, before picking up the list Bumblebee had written down for him. They'd taken the time to list down certain likes and dislikes the older Prime had, and the first, easiest thing Sam could do was to get him coffee early in the morning. Tomorrow (or today?) would be Sunday, and Sam doesn't have any work, but thinking of the brownie points he needs for his work experience _not_ to be a total hell, he decides going to his work building without being needed wouldn't hurt much. He'll just give the coffee and go. Easy as pie.

"So I'm going to have to get him a caramel macchiato, and give it to him by quarter after six," Sam mumbles, re-playing it in his head. "I can stay up the whole night so I won't be late, and I'll be back in my dorm by seven at the latest. Then I can sleep the whole day away." He smiles, thankful he didn't end up like Leo, didn't end up having to take make-up exams for failing too many of them.

"It's fool-proof," he tells himself, falling over backward and onto his bed, hands behind his head and legs crossed for the sides of his ankles to touch. "Coffee for Optimus Prime, and he'll become the greatest pal in the world…" A yawn slips past his lips, but he refuses to go to sleep, because then his plan wouldn't work, because then he's wake up too late. "… then I'll marry Mikaela, and we'll have beautiful kids, and life will be complete."

He smiles up at the ceiling. "That sounds nice."

* * *

Sam fell asleep.

And he woke up at seven in the morning.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Kinda short, sorry. But there you go. I hope you guys are okay with this lame-ass update!

And, yes, I still need a beta. I think. Or maybe I just need cheerleaders and people who I can discuss this damn plot with. I dunno.

Reviews are like food for my writing soul. So please do.


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